Song of an Archer: Canto V: Roots of Bitterness
by LeCinnamonTsundere
Summary: Legolas returns home to Mirkwood after the War of the Ring, hoping for his life to (relatively) return back to normal. But as the youngest prince of Eryn Lasgalen will find out, revenge is not quite as courteous as you would hope, and experiences firsthand what evils a person - even of his own race - who is enslaved by bitterness can commit. (Rated T for torture in future chapters)
1. Homecoming

**Hi there! I'm Jade, or more properly called, the Jade Raven of Rivendell! _Saesa omentien lle!_ (Pleasure meeting you!)**

 **This isn't my first Lord of the Rings fanfic, I recently put up _The Army Man_ , which was my first attempt XD (Pweeze go check it out :3) But I'm back again with another go at the Lord of the Rings genre!**

 **Part of this story will be explained in an upcoming fic called _All Hallow's Eve_ , which I'm hoping to put up around Halloween, but no promises - my trademark on this site is my problems with procrastination XD Anyhoo, enough talk, on with the chappie!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own canon _Lord of the Rings_ places or characters, I do, however, own the characters Esgalnor and Rospen. And anything marked with a little "*" has a footnote at the end of the chapter.**

* * *

 **Chapter I: Homecoming**

 **3019 T.A.  
** **The 5th day of Hísimë*  
** **The noon hour**

It was a day of celebration in the forests of Greenwood the Great. King Thranduil's son, Prince Legolas, was returning home after nearly a year aiding the armies of Men battle against the dark and terrible Lord Sauron in the conflict which was later christened the War of the Ring.

While the Elves of Mirkwood were unable to join the bulk of the fighting in the regions of Rohan and Gondor, having to defend their own borders from Dark forces, they were more than relieved to have the youngest son of their king return from battle.

Most glad of all the Elves at Prince Legolas's homecoming was Thranduil himself, the great Elvenking. When the party he had sent to the Valley of Imladris almost a year ago as representatives at the council of Lord Elrond Half-elven had returned without his son, and brought the news that he had vowed to aid the bearer of the vile One Ring of Power in a quest to destroy the wicked object, Thranduil had been more than concerned.

But now he knew it had been folly to worry: Legolas was a capable warrior―one of Middle-Earth's keenest archers, and his skill with blades was unmatched by Elves far older than him. He remembered the young prince's dance with danger from just over sixty years ago―and how it changed the Elvenking's behavior towards his son.

Once there was a time when Thranduil cared not whether Legolas would return from patrolling the treacherous forest of Mirkwood wounded―or did not even return at all. He allowed himself to become distant with his son, treating him as a prince and a possible heir, but not truly as one's flesh and blood deserved.

Then when Legolas directly defied his orders, leaving the kingdom with the captain of the guard with full knowledge of his father's command to remain in the forest to chase after a pack of Orcs, Thranduil realized that no matter how hard he tried to stifle it, he cared very much for his youngest child. And after the Battle of the Five Armies, he let Legolas know this, and did his best to develop the relationship he had deprived both himself and his son of during the prince's adolescence.

Of course, as with any relationship, there were bumps along the way―not the least of which being the fact that Legolas disappeared into the North in search of a young Dunedain Ranger (on his own advice, Thranduil recalled now), and did not return to Mirkwood for about ten years, and then the Elvenking's repeated mistake of underestimating his son's independence, but slowly, surely, a bond began to form between king and prince―a bond that was now not so easily broken.

 **0o0o0o0o0o0o0**

Every day since the news arrived that the dark Lord Sauron was defeated for good and that Aragorn son of Arathorn (incidentally, the Ranger whom Legolas sought out all those years before) had been crowned the rightful king of Gondor, Thranduil had taken to waiting at the gates of his palace, hopefully watching for his son to come riding down the path.

Now the day had arrived―he could feel it in his heart. He knew he could have merely put his Elvish-sight into effect and he could have possibly seen where Legolas was, but he did not.

Thranduil savored the painfully wonderful anticipation―while he was mildly daunted by the very real prospect of a much-mangled Elven-prince coming up to the gates, he knew that even if his son bore battle scars that would leave a permanent mark, he would not shy away from welcoming him as a valiant warrior, and as a beloved son.

 **0o0o0o0o0o0o0**

It was the fifth day of Hisimë, about midday. Thranduil had only paused his watch and wait at the gates to partake in a meal he showed hardly any interest in.

Esgalnor, his loyal advisor and most trusted friend, watched the king pick uninterestedly at his salad, barely touching anything. " _Hir-nin_ , I know you're eager for the return of your son," he said carefully, "but I don't think starving yourself is the best way to publicly display that desire."

"I haven't been _starving_ myself, Esgalnor―"

"When was the last time you remember eating a full meal since you heard Legolas was nearing our borders?"

"Er. . ." Now that he thought about it, Thranduil realized, with a startled jolt, that he did not remember.

Esgalnor sighed. "That's what I thought. I've already had to coax young Rospen back into regular eating patterns twice now - I'd prefer not to have to do it with you, _hir-nin_."

Rospen was Legolas's maidservant, and Esgalnor recalled, with a minute wince, the young Elleth's insistence on a hunger strike when Legolas had departed for Rivendell nearly a year ago. It had taken several months of gentle and firm instruction to persuade Rospen into eating normally again―and he was now struggling to keep it that way when the prince's female attendant learned that her master was coming home.

"That girl idolizes my son," Thranduil sighed wearily, but now eating with distinctly more vigor than he had been a few moments ago. "I don't think it's very healthy - I'm half-tempted to dismiss her."

"That's not very wise, given that she is Legolas's servant, and not yours per se," Esgalnor warned. "But I can offer a suggestion - wait until Legolas has readjusted to his routine here, then bring up the subject of his maidservant. Unless, of course, he brings it up himself - but in either case, you can then discuss a course of action to take."

"Yes, yes, I'll do that," Thranduil said distractedly, half-listening to his counselor. "Thank you, Esgalnor."

Esgalnor sighed. _Well, this was better than how he would react when his son was returning from beyond our borders in the past_ , he thought as he turned back to his own meal, watching Thranduil out of the corner of his eye.

But before he could bring up another topic of conversation, the captain of the guard, Feren by name, arrived, slightly breathless, in the throne room. " _Thranduil-Hir!_ " He dipped into a short bow. "A scout has just reported that Prince Legolas is nearing the palace! He should be arriving any minute!"

Without a response, Thranduil quickly, but with a certain amount of dignity, jumped up from his seat and with long, swift strides, fast-walked down the pathway towards the gates, ornate robes billowing out behind him as he half-walked, half-ran.

"He's going to to hurt himself, I know it!" Esgalnor darted from his seat to follow his king, Feren at his side.

"You're the most paranoid Elf I've ever met, Esgalnor," Feren sighed wearily. "He's less liable to trip over his robes than you are. Our king is a great many things, but he is _not_ clumsy."

 **0o0o0o0o0o0o0**

By the time Esgalnor and Feren had caught up to Thranduil, the Elvenking had his frosty blue eyes fixed intently on the road leading up to the gates, watching. Waiting. His senses were on high alert, hoping to catch even a whisper of noise that signalled Legolas's presence. The advisor and the captain of the guard stood a respectful few feet back from the gates. Their king should greet his son alone.

There was a perfect full minute of silence. Not a single noise but that of the soft wind rustling the fallen autumn leaves which covered the ground in a crisp, colorful blanket.

Then, Thranduil's ears pricked. He heard the sound of one solitary horse's hooves, steadily growing clearer, crunching the leaves at it trotted nearer to the gates. His eyes, which had momentarily dropped to his boots, now darted up to the road, and what he now saw made his heart leap.

A white stallion was drawing to the stone path bridging the palace to the woodland road, bearing a young blond Elf whose visage was so familiar and so loved by the Elvenking. Leaping nimbly from his mount, the rider took the horse's reins and started walking across the bridge towards the gates.

Thranduil wanted to run forward and embrace his son so hard, but he exercised, although so unwillingly, his personal restraint, and waited for the Elf to come to him.

Legolas stopped right in front of his father, releasing the horse's reins while meeting Thranduil's gaze, mouth curving into a small smile. He still looked as fair-faced and youthful as he had before his departure from Greenwood, and his quiet, gentle smile still warmed Thranduil down to his innermost being. But the Elvenking could see a new maturity in Legolas's eyes - a maturity that gave his son a sort of regality in his bearing that he had not seen before.

The two gazed at each other in silence for a moment, both Elves drinking in the other's presence. Then, with a paternal smile, Thranduil embraced his son, gripping Legolas in a tight hug. "Welcome home," he said quietly into his ear. " _Nae saian luume', ion-nin_."

"Yes, it has," Legolas answered. "I'm glad to be home." His soft lips gently pressed to his father's cheek. "I've missed you, _Adar_."

"Not nearly as much as I've missed you, _las-nin_ ," Thranduil smiled, stroking his son's golden locks as he placed a fatherly kiss to Legolas's forehead.

"I have much to tell you, but I―I―"

"You are tired, I can feel it," Thranduil said gently, finally, but oh-so-reluctantly, releasing his son from his arms. "And―" he made a mildly unpleasant expression "―while I can detect a very faint bath scent on you, you still smell of wet horse."

Legolas laughed, and Thranduil did too - it was as if his beloved youngest son had never left. "I haven't had the luxury of a bath―or even a change of clothes, unfortunately―since I departed from Minas Tirith nearly a fortnight ago," the prince admitted with a rueful smile.

"Go on ahead to your chambers, then," the Elvenking said, smiling. "A bath will do you more good than just rinsing away the grime and stench of the road. Take as much time as you desire - I want you to be fully rested before we speak of anything more."

"Hannon le, Adar." Legolas could not hide the gratitude in his voice - Thranduil hid a chuckle behind his hand as he remembered a time when he could never convince his son, then a playful young Elfling, to take a bath for longer than five minutes.

Legolas's horse, who had remained silent during the exchange between father and son, emitted an annoyed whinny, as if demanding, "Oi, what about me?"

Legolas gently stroked the animal's muzzle, murmuring, "Shh, shh, I haven't forgotten about you, _mellon-nin_." Turning back to Thranduil, he asked, "Is it all right if a guard takes Arod down to the stables to be fed and watered? I'd do it myself, but, as you already guessed, I'm feeling rather spent." Peering over his father's shoulder, a small smirk played on his lips. " _Mannos Feren or Esgalnor?_ "

Turning to see where Legolas was looking, Thranduil's expression mirrored that of his son's. Esgalnor and Feren froze as they tried to duck behind the open gates. "All right, you two, I know you've been hiding back there," the Elvenking called, smirking at the looks of panic on the two Elves' faces. "But since you're here, why don't you make yourselves useful and escort the prince's horse down to the stables?"

"Yes, _hir-nin!_ " Somewhat sheepish, Feren and Esgalnor accepted the reins from the amused Legolas, who whispered something in Arod's ear before letting the white stallion go. The prince laughed as the two Elves hurried away, Arod following them with a rather bored look on his equine features. "Those two are really a pair, aren't they, Adar?" he remarked, turning back to his father.

"Indeed - on the one hand we have the relaxed captain of the guard, and on the other we have the paranoid counselor. It's a wonder they've maintained a friendship for this long - and survived."

Legolas's reply was interrupted by a loud yawn, supplied by the self-same Elf-prince. "I think I'll be going to take that bath now," he said, stifling another yawn. "I'll let myself in through the back, Adar - to be honest, I'd rather no one knew I was here yet." He paused. "Well, except for you, Feren, Esgalnor, and whichever scouts or guards who saw me coming, of course."

"Of course. I'll check up on you in a few hours, if you wish."

"Thank you, that would be appreciated."

A beat.

"Ai Valar, I sound so stiff!" Legolas grinned a little stupidly. "I think all those councils and ceremonies affected me."

Thranduil chuckled, affectionately patting Legolas's shoulder. "You'll recover," he assured him. "I always do. Now go take that bath before I faint from the stench!" He good-naturedly pushed Legolas away, and, laughing, Legolas darted out of sight.

"Oh, that son of mine," the Elvenking sighed, resting a hand to his forehead. "He's both the life and death of me." He gazed up through the treetops, where a few silvery gray clouds were cautiously making their entrance in the late afternoon sky. "I could not be more happy to see him home."

A beat.

"Wait, what did he mean by 'I'll let myself in through the back'? There isn't a back entrance into the palace . . . is there?"

* * *

 ***:** **Hísimë (pronounced _hee-seh-MUH_ )** **is the Quenya name for November.**

 **And here are the Elvish translations; some of it is Sindarin, some of it is Quenya:**

 _hir-nin:_ my lord

 _Nae saian luume', ion-nin:_ It has been too long, my son.

 _Adar_ : Father

 _las-nin:_ my leaf

 _mellon-nin_ : my friend

 _Mannos_ : What about (so-and-so)

 **Review, please? It makes me and my pet raven so happy.**


	2. Talk

**Mae govannen, it'sa me, Raven! (That kinda rhymes . . . right?)**

 **Anyway, thank you so much for your kind support of this story! Since I'm pressed for time, shout-outs to AndurilofTolkien, Anana16, and The Wise Dragoness for your reviews! They mean so much to me! :D**

 **Now, on with the chappie!**

 **Oh, some additional notes: my Elvish aging system is based on one Elvish "year" equaling 144 human years, so when I mention that Legolas was 1,271 years old, that translates to him being roughly eight years old.**

 **And I changed Eryndir's name to Esgalnor for reasons. Viable reasons.**

 **'Nuff talking. HOPE YOU ENJOY!**

* * *

 **Chapter II: Talk**

 **The fifth day of** **Hísimë**

 **The midnight hour**

Bathed and dressed in a long white silk nightshirt, Legolas walked out onto his bedroom balcony. He inhaled the strong, invigorating scent of evergreens and felt the soft lick of a cool northern breeze against his cheek, which gently ruffled his fair blond locks, now free from his nearly permanent warrior braids.

He had missed his forest home - the last time he had seen the woods while he was abroad was the Forest of Fangorn, and standing among the trees there had only intensified the gnawing feeling of homesickness that had ensnared his heart.

While he never revealed his painful feelings to his companions, it had been difficult. He didn't even feel comfortable enough to confide to his long-time comrade Aragorn - it was _his_ burden to bear, and he didn't want to put unnecessary worry on his friend.

But while his longing for his home was strong, his longing for those who lived there was even stronger. His friends, his father . . . Thranduil was the only family Legolas had - the Elvenking's wife had died when he was a elfling of 1,271, but he remembered his beautiful mother oh-so-well.

 _Your mother loved you_ , Legolas recalled his father telling him. _More than anybody. More than life._

Queen Vanalindë. Not a single Elf dared speak the name since her death at the beginning of the Third Age, during the struggle against the fell kingdom of Angmar. And not an Elleth in Mirkwood since bore the same name - out of both reverence and fear for her grieving husband. She was a Sindar of remarkable wisdom and beauty, and Thranduil had loved her more than he had loved anyone before or since.

Legolas sighed, and with a little shake of his head, dispelled the aching memory of his mother from his mind. _Now was not the time to be dwelling too heavily on the pains of the past_ , he thought.

"What's on your mind, _las-tithen_?" A graceful, yet comfortingly hardy hand rested on Legolas's shoulder.

Glancing up into the familiar face now looking at him, Legolas replied quietly, "Things of the night, Adar."

Thranduil nodded. He understood what his son meant―difficult things. "Then let us not speak of such things, ion-nin. But before we talk, are you desiring anything as of this moment?"

Esgalnor always begged Thranduil to ask his son at least three times a day where he "desired anything": code for whether he was hungry or thirsty. "He's far too thin, even for an Elf!" the counselor had fretted when he used to tutor the young prince, and no amount of persuasion from both Thranduil and Legolas could convince Esgalnor that Legolas was indeed a healthy weight for a Elf of his age, build, and height.

Most of the time Thranduil only asked Legolas once, just to humor his paranoid friend and advisor, but this time it was actually a serious question. The Elvenking wanted to make sure his son was perfectly rested and cared for before they would launch into a conversation that he knew would probably stretch into the early hours of the morning.

"Thank you, Adar, but I do not need anything as of this―" Legolas's polite refusal was interrupted by a protesting _grr_ from his abdominal region. The younger Elf's face reddened as Thranduil arched an eyebrow at him.

"You never were that good at lying," he remarked, the corner of his mouth twitching into a gently amused smirk. "But that was the first time you ever interrupted a lie without your mouth."

Legolas shrugged, smiling in that innocently embarrassed way that made Thranduil suppress a chuckle. "I didn't want you to go through unnecessary trouble for any requests I might have."

The Elvenking rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but smile. "Knowing you'd say something of that nature if I asked, I took the liberty of bringing something up for you anyway."

Legolas raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. " _You_ , perform manual labor? How did you _ever_ bring yourself to do servant's work?"

"I know, I know, so unexpected," Thranduil rolled his eyes, unable to maintain a dignified face. "But I managed. But in all seriousness, I would do anything for you, ion-nin―even sell myself into slavery for your sake."

Legolas made a crossing motion across his heart, a sign of warding away ill omens. "I hope that will never have to happen, Adar," he said.

Thranduil only nodded. "Now, eat. Then we'll talk."

 **0o0o0o0o0o0o0**

Despite his protests, Thranduil could tell his son was grateful for the plate of assorted foodstuffs he had brought up. And even with all of Legolas's coaxings, the Elvenking refused to say another word until the prince had eaten what he wanted.

It didn't take him long, and Legolas launched wholeheartedly into recounting the escapades of the past year.

The Elvenking had become an excellent listener―reacting appropriately at the right parts of the story, absorbing every detail of Legolas's recollections of the past year's escapades with genuine interest. It was like listening to his elfling son telling him what he had accomplished during his day, Legolas was so enthusiastic with his sweeping hand gestures and animated reenactments of certain battles.

He'd hardly ever seen his son get so excited about telling him anything―in the past, it had just been a short, clipped report before disappearing to his chambers for a bath and meal in solitude.

"You should have seen the look on Gimli's face when I slid down the mumakil's trunk without a scratch on me!" Legolas's face was lit up with a laughing smile. "And do you know what he said?"

Thranduil shrugged, smiling helplessly. "I couldn't guess."

"That still only counts as one!" The twosome burst out laughing. "I told him he would have to come and visit Mirkwood as a guest sometime―was that correct for me to say, Adar?"

"Any Dwarf who manages to become one of my son's close friends is someone worth meeting," Thranduil replied. "Although I'm not sure what his father thinks of me these days―and did you tell your friend what you called him all those years ago?"

Legolas blushed, mildly embarrassed. "I did―he took it in stride, though, as men say."

It took a total of two hours for Legolas to tell Thranduil of all that had happened to him on the quest, up to the events of the past fortnight. "Now, please tell me what happened here while I was away―I have not heard any news about all that took place here while the men of Rohan and Gondor defended their lands in the east."

Thranduil in turn informed his son of the many battles that had been fought in the forests of Mirkwood―mostly with evil beings of the arachnid and Orcish variety―and who the forest had been finally purged of all dark influence. "No longer will our people be troubled by spiders and other such evils―we will be able to walk through our forest without fear, as we once did millennia ago," Thranduil said, gazing out over the forest below them. "No longer is this place called Mirkwood―it is now _Eryn Lasgalen_ : the Wood of Greenleaves."

"I wish I had been here to witness it," Legolas sighed, a little wistfully. "But even though I did not see it, I see what came of it―and it's beautiful."

"Indeed. Even the Greenwood of old cannot compare to this cleansed forest. Eryn Lasgalen is a particular kind of beautiful, much like the rains washing away a dull brown winter to herald a bright green spring."

Legolas nodded, resting his elbows against the balcony railing and gazing up at the early morning sky. It was now the sixth hour of the sixth day of Hísimë, and the dawn sun was peeking over the treetops, turning the sky all about her rosy pink and golden orange.

Thranduil wrapped his arm around his son's shoulders. Legolas's new maturity had come at a price―he bore the great sorrow and pain of witnessing so many good men and Elves fall into death's unforgiving abyss. He sighed inwardly―his son was too young to have seen such a surplus of death. "You are still so tired, _rivaldir-tithen-nin_ ," he said regretfully.

The prince nodded, and Thranduil sensed he was sleepy. "I don't remember the last time I slept since departing from Rivendell," Legolas admitted, and he couldn't repress a yawn. "I know we don't really need to sleep, but―" another yawn "―it feels so good. . ."

His eyelids slipped shut, and with a gentle sigh, Legolas fell asleep, resting his head against his father's shoulder. "It _does_ feel good, ion-nin," Thranduil said softly, smiling tenderly at his now contentedly sleeping son, "but it will feel better in a bed."

Ever so carefully, Thranduil lifted Legolas up in his arms, carrying him bridal style into his chambers and over to his bed. Laying his son down, the Elvenking drew the silver silk covers up around Legolas's shoulders, smoothing his sleek blond hair from his forehead to reveal his fair features.

"Sleep well, my beautiful son," he whispered softly, brushing his lips gently against Legolas's temple.

Rising, he closed the fall-colored curtain around Legolas's bed, then drew the curtains over the balcony archway and windows closed so his son would not be disturbed by the early morning sunlight filtering into the room.

Then he silently exited the bedroom, shutting the door behind him with a faint _click_. He was about to head down the hallway to the stairs leading to the levels below when he stopped midway. _What if he were to wake up before it's done?_ he thought, frowning. _He's a deep sleeper, but . . . I'll just be careful._

Quickly ducking into his chambers, situated next to Legolas's, he retrieved a key from his desk drawer, then returned to the hallway and quietly locked his son's bedroom door. _I'll check back up on him again tonight,_ he thought, tucking the key into a pocket sewn under his robes.

* * *

 **Elven translations that make life easier! :D**

 **Vanalind** **ë** **: fair singer**

 **Elleth: female Elf**

 **las-tithen: little leaf**

 **Adar: father**

 **Esgalnor: hidden fire**

 **ion-nin: my son**

 **mumakil: another name for _oliphaunt_**

 **Eryn Lasgalen: the Wood of Greenleaves**

 **rivaldir-tithen-nin: my little golden crown**

 **Please send all reviews to the . . . er, review section below XD**


	3. Confused

**Oh for the love of Gondor and everything else sacred in Middle-Earth I FINALLY GOT THE NEXT CHAPTER UP! YES! *does celebratory happy dance***

 **I am so, so sorry it's taken me this long to update: this story has gone through three different name changes and book alignments and every other fanfic edit known to the Free Races since I last updated this thing XD XD XD**

 **Thank you so much for your patience and your kind reviews on the previous chapter! :D They meant so much to me! :D**

 **I've already got quite a bit of the next chapter already written, but knowing me, I have no idea when I'm going to get it finished XP**

 **Welp, enough rambling: I've got some more Thranduil-Legolas father/son fluff in this somewhat filler chapter that took me a grand total of ten months to write XD XD and I don't want to keep y'all waiting anymore!**

 **Enjoy, and please drop a review to tell me how you liked the chapter! :D (All Elvish translations will be included at the end of the chapter)**

* * *

 **Chapter III: Confused**

 **The 7th day of Hísimë  
** **The 7th hour before noon**

Legolas awoke to the sound of gaily chirruping sparrows just outside his windows. Stretching his slightly sore limbs and yawning at a volume that was mildly indecent for a prince, he rubbed a crust of sleep from his eyes and sat up.

He vaguely remembered his father coming in at some point during the night, but he wasn't sure whether it had just been a dream.

He half-expected to see Aragorn awakening beside him, or Gandalf keeping watch, or even one of the little Hobbits still snoring away, but then he remembered: he was now home in Eryn Lasgalen―Aragorn was no doubt en route to Minas Tirith, Gandalf had gone his wandering wizard's way, and the Hobbits were on their way home to the Shire.

Throwing off the covers, Legolas drew back the curtains all around the bed before sliding onto the floor. The cold wooden floor sent a sudden, though not entirely unpleasant, jolt through his feet, bringing him to just about full alertness.

Another yawn escaped his mouth as he stood up, walking over to the balcony to draw back the heavy curtains blocking the archway and the windows. Blinking in the early morning sunlight, Legolas's eyes quickly adjusted to the light now bathing him in a pleasant warmth.

He came to lean against the balcony rail, looking out over the forest below. The trees were a magnificent kaleidoscope of reds, oranges, and browns, glowing with a glorious golden aura against the pale blue sky, still tinged with pink from the fading sunrise.

"What a beautiful morning," he said aloud, inhaling the clean, crisp Hísimë air and sighing contentedly. "I missed this so much." He sighed again, smiling.

A little black-capped chickadee hopped up on the balcony rail, cheeping inquisitively at the Elf-prince. "Hello there." Legolas knelt down, letting the small bird flit onto his finger. "It's been a while."

The chickadee chirped, and Legolas laughed at the annoyed translation of the bird's cheeps now running through his mind. "I'm sorry, but I had to deliver a message for Adar, and it kind of turned into something bigger―the future of Middle-Earth depended on it."

The chickadee skeptically tilted his head, and cheeped again. " _We-e-ell_ , maybe my presence wasn't as vital as all that," Legolas admitted, grinning ruefully. "I'm just glad I was helpful in at least some way." Then, his smile faded just a little―remembering Helm's Deep. . .

 **0o0o0o0o0o0o0**

" _ **Togo hon dad**_ _, Legolas!" Aragorn yelled._

 _Looking down where the Ranger was frantically gesturing, Legolas nocked an arrow to his bow and fired it down at the torch-bearing Berserker Orc below._

 _It met its mark, but the Berserker kept plowing forward, hardly affected by the wound. "_ _ **Dago hon! Dago hon!**_ " _Aragorn shouted._

 _Legolas fired a second shot, and was about to let loose a third when the Berserker leapt into the culvert, torch held high._

 _It was only a split second before the Orc's kamikaze act took its toll. About a fourth of the Deeping Wall exploded, blasting the stones, as well as many Elves and Men through the air before plummeting to the ground to their destruction._

 _A sudden queasiness hit Legolas in the gut, and he had to support himself against the wall for a brief moment. Why hadn't he seen and killed the Berserker before Aragorn realized it was such a threat?_

 **0o0o0o0o0o0o0**

 _CHEEP!_ Legolas blinked. The bird was staring at him as if he had gone mad. "No need to burden you with my worries," the Elf said, sighing a little wistfully.

The chickadee shrugged, cheeping again. Then he flew off.

Legolas couldn't help but laugh again. "Birds can be temperamental, but I've never encountered one with that much mouth."

Shaking the rather unpleasant memory back into the recesses of his mind with a toss of his _mithril_ locks, Legolas went back into his room after consulting the sundial on the balcony. "I have time before breakfast to clean up a bit."

Walking over to his closet, he discovered some articles he was certain weren't there when he had dressed two nights earlier. A handsome silk tunic of a brilliant copper orange hue, like fallen maple leaves, with a high collar, long sleeves, and gold trim, was hung conspicuously in front of his other daywear, with a fine golden belt, tan leggings, and a pair of brown leather boots resting innocently under it.

Legolas studied the prospective ensemble, pleasantly surprised, but also mildly puzzled. "I wonder what warranted these?" he said aloud, taking the tunic by the hanger and looking it over.

Be that as it may, he didn't think about the appearance of the new clothes all that much while he showered; his father passed him hand-me-downs and tailor-mades more frequently than you might expect. Once he had thoroughly dried off and slipped into the outfit, it suited him nicely, much to his startled amazement.

He was rummaging through his nightstand drawer in search of a headband when a high female voice suddenly came from behind him.

"Good morning, Master Legolas!"

"AH!" Legolas yelped, almost jumping out of his skin as he whirled around, shoving the drawer shut . . . on his fingers. He swallowed a second yell as he gingerly massaged the now throbbing appendages. A thin, mousy-haired Elleth was standing with an eager smile on her face as she gazed adoringly at the prince, oblivious to the scare and the temporary injury her unannounced entrance had given him.

Legolas forced a smile in reply as he attempted to recover his dignity and tried to remember the Elleth's name. Valar, he knew it began with an _R_. . . "Ah . . . Rospen, isn't it?" he guessed, shaking his twinging hand out before hurriedly hiding it behind his back.

The Elleth's eyes lit up with sheer ecstasy. "Yes, Master Legolas! It is I, Rospen - your loyal maidservant!"

 _Right . . . Rospen_ , Legolas thought with a painful wince which had nothing to do with his fingers.

It wasn't that Rospen was a _bad_ servant per se - Legolas didn't dislike her in that way. He just found her . . . rather annoying at times. He remembered her constantly dashing about to do his bidding, sometimes taking even longer than it would have had he done the task himself. And he often had the distinct feeling that her gaze was permanently attached to the back of his head when his face wasn't available. More than once he caught her lurking around the premises when he was either reading, practicing his archery, or worse, when he attempted to - privately, he would hasten to add - practice his singing.

In a phrase, Rospen made him feel nearly as paranoid as Esgalnor - and that was saying something.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Master?" Rospen asked eagerly. Seeing that he was clean and dressed, she asked hopefully. "Do you want me to fix your hair?"

Legolas awkwardly fidgeted with the ends of his long blond locks. He had intended to just leave his hair alone, except for a headband to keep his bangs―something of a leftover childhood habit―pushed back, as they now flopped over his forehead in a thick curve. They were too short to be just brushed back into the rest of his hair, but long enough to almost be a nuisance when not consolidated into warrior braids.

He had grown used to taking care of his personal hygiene while he was abroad, but Rosen was giving him such a pleading―and bizarrely adoring―look that even the _thought_ of telling her "no" made the Elven-prince feel uncomfortably guilty. "Well . . . I suppose so."

" _ **OhthankyouthankyouthankyouTHANKYOU!**_ " Rospen's squeal of delight made Legolas's ears ring, but he managed to maintain a smile, albeit a forced one, as she steered him into a chair pushed in front of the full-length mirror hanging on his wall.

 _She must have snuck in here when I was showering,_ he thought, face flushing as he mentally thanked the Valar that he had thought to change his clothes in the bathroom. Rospen's fingers felt cold and disturbingly bony as she gathered his flaxen gold locks back. She looked far paler and thinner than he had noticed at first glance: worryingly so.

"Have you been well, Rospen?" he asked hesitantly. "You look . . . somewhat ill."

"I'm very well, thank you, Master!" Rospen chirped, completely unaware of his second comment.

"Then," Legolas was confused by her response, "why is it that you're so―slim?" That was a monumental understatement: while he remembered her being on the willowy side before he had left for Rivendell, she was now bordering on dangerously anorexic.

"I haven't eaten for a fortnight!" Rospen exclaimed proudly. "Esgalnor tried to make me, but I fooled him. I didn't eat for five months after you left, but after I passed out in the middle of a―"

"Five months―?! Oh, Rospen," Legolas groaned, wincing as the Elleth twisted his hair rather painfully. "Why on _earth_ would you do something like that?"

"To show my undying loyalty to my master, of course!" said Rospen dramatically, accidentally pulling on the locks in her hand as she attempted a theatrical flourish.

"OW!" The sound of distress slipped out of Legolas's mouth―he couldn't stop it.

Rospen gasped, horrified. "I'm so sorry, Master!" she squeaked. Her pale gray eyes looked even more watery than usual, and her lower lip quivered with restrained tears.

Legolas exhaled deeply in an attempt to recompose himself; his scalp was still tingling with pain. "It's all right, Rospen. It didn't hurt me that much; it just startled me."

The Elleth sniffled pathetically, trying to recover herself as she returned to her task.

Legolas remained awkwardly silent for a moment or two before attempting another gentle conversation starter. "So . . . what has been going on here since I left? Many things can happen in a year."

This provoked an immediate change in Rospen's mood. The Elleth was more than happy to inform him of the goings'-on at the palace which had occurred in his absence. Most of it was idle gossip and prattle that Legolas tuned out, for his father had informed him well of the year's past events; he only inquired of Rospen in order to relieve the tension he felt so keenly from the rather oversensitive servant.

 _I thought she would be done by now,_ the Elven-prince thought, fidgeting uncomfortably with his sleeve cuffs as she chattered away, fingers twisting and pinning his hair every which way while she talked. _If I only knew how to ask her to stop without hurting her feelings. . ._

"All finished!" Rospen stepped back to admire her handiwork, hopefully waiting for her master's reaction.

Legolas hoped he didn't look too startled, because in his eyes, his reflection betrayed his thoughts regarding the puzzling and rather unflattering arrangement his blond locks had been twisted into.

"Er, Rospen?"

"Yes, Master?" The maidservant watched him dreamily.

"I think this is an Elleth's style." Legolas's face reddened with embarrassment. He recognized his "new look" as an uncomfortably elaborate style that he'd only seen in paintings depicting queens and ladies of the Second Age.

"Are you sure?" Rospen wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. "It looks so good on you!"

Legolas wasn't entirely sure about that; his hair looked more like a cross between an unwieldy flower arrangement and failed knot-tying practice than anything else. "Er . . . thank you," he said awkwardly.

Rospen giggled, obviously delighted. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Master?"

"Um . . . no."

Rospen's smile faded. "Nothing at all?"

"Nothing," Legolas repeated. He hoped he didn't sound too unkind. "Thank you for your service, Rospen."

Rospen hung her head. "It was given out of loyalty," she mumbled.

Legolas couldn't help but feel guilty as she slunk dejectedly out of the room. "You're supposed to be firm with your servants, Legolas," he reminded himself as he closed the door behind her.

 _But she's a whole different scenario,_ a voice in his head reminded him.

"Don't remind me." Legolas sighed. "Now I've got to undo all of this if I want to go out in public."

 _Good luck. You're going to need it._

"Oh, that's _very_ encouraging. But, honestly: how hard could this possibly be?"

 **0o0o0o0o0o0o0**

 _You were saying?_

"Oh, shut up." Legolas jerked hard on his hands, but yelped as they only got more caught up into the mass of previously tangle-free blond hair and pins. "This is ridiculous!" He tugged hard again, but to no avail. "How on earth did she even do this?"

 _Knock-knock!_ "Legolas?" Thranduil's voice called through the door.

"Come in!" Legolas desperately needed another pair of hands, since his own were absolutely no help. He could stand looking like an idiot in front of his father if it were a temporary situation.

As the Elvenking, clad in an outfit nearly identical to Legolas's, stepped into the bedroom, a mix of amusement and sympathy crossed his face at the sight of his youngest struggling to untangle his fingers from his coiled and pinned locks.

"Help me, Adar, _please_ ," Legolas groaned.

Thranduil smiled wryly. "Come over here and I'll see what I can do."

Sitting on his son's bed, Thranduil sat Legolas down on his lap and began to carefully disentangle the prince's fingers from his hair.

"I passed Rospen in the hallway; she seemed . . . distraught, to put it mildly," he remarked.

Legolas groaned in frustration again. "I tried to send her away without hurting her feelings! I don't know _what_ I said this time―"

"I think it was the fact that you sent her away was what gave her such grief," said Thranduil, removing another handful of pins from Legolas's blond locks and setting them down on the nightstand. "You know she, as they say, has a crush on you?"

The prince sighed ruefully. "Yes," he admitted, "and it's been bothering me for a long time. I don't feel comfortable with her serving me. You know that she said she didn't eat for five months while I was gone in order to show loyalty to me?"

Thranduil frowned. "How does that show loyalty?" he asked, freeing one of Legolas's hands and several more pins from the quickly loosening coils of his son's hair. "I find that more a result of boredom or a lack of intelligence."

"I think she genuinely meant well, but her sense of devotion is skewed." Legolas gratefully flexed his freed fingers, gently tugging his other hand loose.

"There, I think that's the last of them." The Elven-prince heaved a sigh of relief, running his hands through his hair and massaging his throbbing scalp. Thranduil's frown turned to an expression of disbelief as he silently counted the silver hairpins he had removed. "How did she get her hands on this many?"

"I've stopped asking questions like that about Rospen, Adar. It's just better not to." Getting up, Legolas scooped up his brush and started the task of undoing the tangles.

"Speaking of, would you want me to speak to Mistress Tinuviel about rotating Rospen's position to one more suited to her . . . giftings?"

"Very much so." Finished with his task, Legolas tossed his blond locks with an experimental flick of his wrist. Thranduil concealed a smile behind his hand. Legolas constantly insisted he wasn't vain about his appearance, but the Elvenking suspected he had at least a little pride in his handsome looks - after all, he had two exceptionally good-looking parents. _Well_ , Thranduil thought ruefully, _I suppose I'm more than guilty of vanity myself._

"So, what's the agenda for today's schedule, Adar?" Legolas tucked a headband behind his pointed ears, tossing his hair a second time.

"Whatever you want to do, son," the Elvenking replied with a shrug. "The day's open until six."

"Why until then?" Legolas inquired, curiosity piqued.

"Because that's when you'll be going to bed, what do you think you'd be doing?"

"You're not serious!?" the teenager squeaked.

Thranduil laughed. "No, I'm just joking. But yes, I have plans for us after six that I'd rather not alter."

"I probably couldn't think of enough activities to go past six anyway. You didn't finish our project while I was gone, did you?"

The Elvenking's eyebrows arched. "Now who's not being serious?"

* * *

 **The noon hour**

"I'm surprised you'd want to spend most of your morning in this dusty old library instead of outside enjoying the fall scenery," Thranduil commented, shelving another book before picking up yet another leather-bound volume from the stack of tomes at his feet. "If I recall correctly, Minas Tirith has a far more extensive archive than this one."

"Your recollection is half-correct." Legolas was curled up in a chair, blue eyes devouring the Elvish lettering dancing across the parchment pages of his book. "It's more extensive in the histories and literatures of Men - its lack is in those of Elves. Not an unfortunate lack, but a lack nonetheless."

"The way you said that makes me think you read every piece of paper in the Minas Tirith library, even down to the archivist notes."

"Don't talk about that library, Adar, it's making me sleepy to even think of it." Legolas executed a perfect on-cue yawn. "It was so dark and boring: no natural light coming in through windows; cobwebs all over the place; and enough dust and muck to make even Mirkwood rival Valinor in cleanliness."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating, but if that means you prefer this to that, I'll accept it." Glancing over at his youngest son, he added dryly, "I thought this sorting was supposed to be a _team_ effort."

"I'll be there in a _second_." Legolas's voice had a very slight whine. "I just want to finish this section, then I'll go back to helping you."

"I have a feeling that will take longer than a second, but all right."

A beat.

"Just out of curiosity, which book has captured your attention this time?"

"A book of ordinances from the Second Age," Legolas replied absently. "I got it from a pile of unsorted law books." Turning another page, a puff of dust that was disturbed from its three-millennia slumber made him sneeze violently.

"Towards the bottom of that pile, judging by your reaction," Thranduil remarked wryly. Momentarily glancing over Legolas's shoulder at the page, he noted, "That doesn't look like your grandfather's handwriting."

"I think it said it was a compilation of minor ordinances for one of the provinces of Greenwood, back before Grandfather united them under his rule." Tentatively dusting off another page before turning it, Legolas scanned across the scripted characters. "Here's a strange one: _no Elf younger than 2,880 years of age is permitted to cut his or her hair to a length higher than just above the shoulders without the consent of a parent or guardian, except in the instance of a war or if he or she is in the process of a_ firnrin _._ " He looked up at his father, a little puzzled. "I understand the _firnrin_ rule, but _in the instance of a war_?"

Thranduil chuckled a little at his son's confusion. "That's in the happenstance of a sword slicing someone's hair instead of their neck," he said. "I've seen it happen before, although it's not a common occurrence."

"Ah." Legolas absently ran a hand through his own hair, provoking another smile from his father. The Elven-prince scanned the _tengwar_ again. "Looks like someone got water on this: the lines with the penalty are all smudged."

"Let me see." Thranduil looked over Legolas's shoulder at the page again. "That passage looks familiar; it might be in another book. I'll be right back."

 **0o0o0o0o0o0o0**

He did come right back, but without another book. "That's odd - that's apparently the only law book we have with that particular ordinance in it."

"Must not really be an important one then." Legolas was still deeply engrossed in the law book. "I mean, who can monitor the behavior of every minor in Lasgalen, even in a province?"

"Indeed - it was hard enough for me to manage four minors, not including your cousins and any underage visitors from Rivendell or Lorien. One is quite enough." Thranduil teasingly mussed Legolas's blond locks, provoking a startled "Hey!" from his youngest. "Would you care to join me for a little contest of archery on the training green?"

"What, you think I've gotten rusty?" Legolas arched an eyebrow.

"No, I'm merely interested in seeing if your skills have improved. Two years of battle is no walk in the forest."

"Well, up until recently, a walk through Mirkwood Forest could have easily called for proficiency in combat skills, but I get your point." A smirk quirked at the corner of his mouth. "The question is, are you up to it? I'd think doing all this would make you _sleeeeepy_."

Thranduil rolled his eyes. Ah, the age cracks. . . he didn't really miss those. "You're going to wish I was sleepy by the time I beat you to the archery range without breaking a sweat."

With that, Thranduil was gone from the library like a bolt of orange silk lightning. "Hey! No fair!" Legolas yelped, jumping up from his chair and abandoning the book.

* * *

 **The archery green  
** **About ten minutes later**

"Don't―do―that―ever again!" Legolas gasped. The Elven-prince was panting for breath, bent double with his hands on his knees. "At least―not without giving me a―five minute warning―at _least_!"

"Where's the fun in that?" Thranduil permitted himself a triumphant smirk at his youngest's expense.

"You're mean." Legolas recovered his breath fairly quickly, despite his apparent windedness.

"You can have your revenge on me with your bow and arrows and a most unfortunate target," the Elvenking replied smoothly. "I'm interested in seeing the way you handle your gift from the Lady Galadriel."

Legolas groaned. " _Ada_ , that bow's back in my bedroom! Do I really have to go back there to get it?"

The placid look on Thranduil's face was enough of an answer. The Elven-prince sighed. "All right, all right, I'll get it."

 **0o0o0o0o0o0o0**

Within the next fifteen minutes or so (Legolas's bedroom was something of a long way off from the archery green), the sounds of singing arrows speeding through the air and puncturing the targets with satisfying _thocks_ mingled with the rustling of fallen leaves in the breeze and the occasional chirping of birds.

Father and son fired off familial banter with as much vigor as the arrows from the bowstring, and their laughter soon mixed with the other pleasant background ambience.

As content as Legolas was in this much-missed environment, he couldn't help but notice just how quiet it was. In fact, it had been nearly graveyard silent all day save for the obligatory soundtrack provided by the creations of Illuvatar and the Valar. He hadn't noticed many servants, if any, performing tasks around the palace, except for Esgalnor scampering hither and yon for brief intervals. And the guard had been reduced to almost the bare minimum possible.

He vocalized his observations to his father as he fired another dead center shot. "I haven't seen much of the palace staff other than Esgalnor, Rospen, and the mandatory amount of guards all day," His blue eyes took on an inquisitive, suspicious look as he glanced at Thranduil.

"Perhaps everyone decided to keep to their quarters for the day," Thranduil shrugged, firing off another arrow at the target on the other side of the green.

"It's too nice a day for anyone to want to stay indoors," the Elven-prince objected as he too sent an arrow soaring through the air. "And I've never recalled you having the lenience to allow the entirety of the palace staff, barring your own counselor, a serving girl, and a few guards, have the day off."

"People can change over time." Another shrug from the Elvenking as a third arrow landed with a satisfying _thock_ in the dead center of the target.

"Yes, but not that drastically." Legolas shook his finger accusingly at his father. "You're hiding something from me, aren't you?"

"Maybe I am, and then again, maybe I'm not."

"I hate it when you give me those cryptic answers," the Elven-prince muttered, crossing his arms. His face had taken on such a Thranduil-esque scowl that the Elvenking couldn't help but laugh. "Speaking of others who I haven't seen, where are Vagorthalion and Megilaer? And I at least expected to see Luin and Lammoth scampering about the grounds, if not anyone else."

Thranduil recovered himself enough to respond with a straight face. "Your brothers are in Lorien―the combined losses of those Lorienfolk who died at Helm's Deep and those who defended both the Golden Wood and Mirkwood is great; Vagorthalion and Megilaer have been under the temporary authority of Celeborn and the Galadhrim to aid in speeding the recovery of this devastating loss. But I also know they will be returning home in time for Yulemath next month, so you shall see them soon. As for the twins―" his smile returned "―they are most likely playing hide-and-seek and would rather us not to find them."

"Uh-huh." Legolas accepted these answers, although finding the one for the twins more than a tad suspicious. "And . . . what of Caraniel?"

The Elvenking's smile faded instantly at this. "Of your sister, I know not, but not out of lack of effort on my part. She refuses to speak to me, except to demand her release: the one thing I cannot grant her."

"Would you be willing to let me speak to her?"

Thranduil tensed. "Why would you want to? It's because of what she did to you that I had to imprison her in the first place."

"I know, but that doesn't mean she doesn't deserve a second chance from me."

The Elvenking arched his eyebrows, a mixture of disbelief and skepticism on his face. "She lied to you in the worst way possible, physically abused you, and didn't even admit to it until she was caught red-handed in trying to kill you - after one other failed attempt, I have to unfortunately add. And I'm certain you've given her more than just one second chance, and she's never changed because of it. What makes you think she'll change now?"

Legolas shrugged. "That's not why I want to speak to her. I want to speak to her because she's my sister. Despite everything she's done to me, she cannot change that. I want to speak to her sibling to sibling, which I doubt my brothers have done in my absence." He sighed. "At least . . . give it some thought."

"I will consider it, yes." Thranduil couldn't figure out his youngest's reasoning, but he would at least humor his . . . _unusual_ request.

As Legolas jogged off to collect his arrows from the target across the green, Thranduil smiled to himself. He knew Legolas would have to humor his own unusual request soon enough today. . .

* * *

 **Three minutes before the sixth hour after noon  
** **The Great Lower Halls of the Palace of Eryn Lasgalen**

"Adar, I can't see a thing!"

"Good, that's the idea. Watch out, you're about to walk into a column."

Legolas swerved out of the way only to almost fall into the creek under the bridge they were walking across. "Why do I need to be blindfolded? It's already dark out!"

"Because you can see perfectly in the dark, and I don't want that at this particular time." Thranduil arched his eyebrows. "I thought you would have guessed as much by now."

"Then could you at least guide me to wherever it is you don't want me to see yet instead of almost letting me fall off the bridge?"

"That can be arranged." Thranduil placed his hands on his son's shoulders.

"But don't you _dare_ steer me into that column I almost ran into," Legolas warned.

"I won't," Thranduil said patiently. "Now just walk forward."

Legolas walked forward with some reluctance, warily following Thranduil's directions. "You know I don't like being surprised―could you at least give me a hint as to where we're going?"

"Why don't you guess?" was his father's annoyingly calm response.

The Elven-prince mentally groaned. "Uh . . . we're on the lower levels . . . we're going away from the archery green . . . which is on the western side of the Greater Grounds, so we're heading east . . ."

While he was trying to figure it out, Thranduil had maneuvered him up to the large set of cedar double doors which led into the Lower Halls. "So we can't be going _there_ ―" The Elvenking clamped a hand over Legolas's mouth, then rapped swiftly on the doors.

Legolas emitted an vexed squeak of protest that was further silenced by the sound of the double doors creaking open. Thranduil quickly pushed him inside and the doors were closed just as suddenly as they had been opened.

With one fluid motion, the Elvenking removed both his hand and the blindfold from his son's face.

" _ **SURPRISE!**_ "

* * *

 **Elvish Translations:**

 **Tago hon dad:** take him down  
 **Dago hon:** kill him

 **If you're curious about the decisions I made in regards to my portrayals of Legolas and Thranduil, I'm more than happy to discuss them via PM or The Tolkieneers Forum!**

 **God bless!**

 **#God's Not Dead!  
#ForeverTolkieneer!**

 **(put up July 13th, 2018)**


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